


The Werewolf of Croydon

by blackmountainbones, BobSkeleton



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV), The Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: AU, Animalistic Sex, Biting, Erotic Horror, Frottage, Horror, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Voyeurism, Werewolves, but there is werewolf angst, is it RPF? is it the Boosh? no one knows for sure, no actual werewolf fucking, this will give you the FEAR and also an orgasm, you’ll be afraid of how much it turns you on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 09:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21116828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmountainbones/pseuds/blackmountainbones, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobSkeleton/pseuds/BobSkeleton
Summary: Art student Noel Fielding doesn’t believe in monsters. When he moves into a new flat in an old house on the outskirts of Croydon, it doesn’t take him long to meet his upstairs neighbor, Julian Barratt, and to fall thoroughly in lust with him. All told, the place is perfect. But when the full moon rises, Noel learns that his new flat isn’t what it seems.





	The Werewolf of Croydon

**Author's Note:**

> Has anyone else noticed the tragic lack of werewolf Julian fics in the fandom? There are a few vampire Vince fics out there, but no werewolf Julian, and so, we decided to do something about that. This was an attempt to prove to ourselves that we could write something scary, and we’d like to think we succeeded. 
> 
> We also realize that this universe is… strange. Not only does it take place in a UK-US hybrid, it’s a blend between RPF and the Boosh. There’s Noel and Julian, but we couldn’t get Rich Fulcher to be anything other than Bob Fossil (and where there’s Fossil there’s Bainbridge). 
> 
> Massive thanks to LittleBooshMaid for being an amazing beta, and Britpicking the entire thing. Your suggestions and thoroughness are so appreciated! 
> 
> And lastly, the basis of this whole fic came from [this Tumblr post](https://the-stoned-ranger.tumblr.com/post/187745231584/larissafae-whatamievensaying). According to English lore, a werewolf can be turned back into a human if someone who truly cares for them utters their name during the change.

The little house sits at the top of a hill, bordered on three sides by woods, on the fourth by a quiet road. If Noel closes his eyes, it’s easy to convince himself he’s no longer in Croydon--the birds chirp, the insects buzz, the wind hums through the branches of the trees. There’s nary a car nor a human voice to disturb the silence.

A lifelong Londoner, Noel wonders if he must have been mad to answer the advert for lodgings at the old house on the edge of the woods. Once he sees the place, however, he’s charmed by the rustic nature of the sprawling single-family home that’s been converted into apartments, its rickety front porch, the smell of the forest, the _ quiet, _ his artist’s eye entranced by how much inspiration could be found there. Besides, it’s _ cheap. _So he emails the landlord to say he’ll take it. 

His flat is on the first floor, his only neighbor occupying the second. It’s small, quaint and a bit old-fashioned, but as an art student, Noel is used to cramped quarters shared with other students. The house, dark and isolated as it is, seems positively luxurious to someone used to dorms or small flats shared with four other young people despite its lack of modern amenities such as a dishwasher or central heating. Here, Noel has room to spread out and _ work, _ to fill his large canvases with paint and sprawl the way his art demands. He has the space to detox from the hustle of university, time to be quiet and watch the sunset on the porch while listening to the sounds of the woods rather than traffic and house parties. He feels like he can be _ himself _here, even with another flat upstairs. 

He meets the upstairs neighbor for the first time when he moves in, and then, only briefly. It happens while Noel’s trying to push a chest of drawers through the narrow hallway into the even-narrower door to the flat. It sticks at an awkward angle, and Noel gives up, kicking at the thing as he considers his options. 

Perhaps if he turns it on its side.... 

A voice sounds behind him. “Having a bit of trouble there?”

Noel jumps, checking over his shoulder for the source of the voice. A shadow is leaning against the bannister of the stairs, its shape distinctly masculine. The lightbulb in the hallway must be dying--it flickers across the man’s features as Noel takes in the sight of him; tall, with long arms and legs, messy hair and scruffy facial hair, his eyes small, dark, and penetrating. 

Noel kicks the dresser one last time for good measure. “Yeah,” he admits, cursing himself for hiring a man with a van instead of actual movers.

“Need a hand?” the man asks, lifting his hands palm-up to offer his own. Noel notices the size of his hands--large even compared to his large frame, they look like _ paws_. An image flashes across his eyes: those hands on Noel’s body, grabbing a handful of his flesh.

It takes Noel a moment to compose himself. The man cocks his head, waiting, his eyes dark, inscrutable. 

“Yeah,” Noel finally says, or rather, _ tries _to say, but his voice has gone hoarse. He blames it on the dusty, dingy hallway, which is dank in the way of a place cleaned only rarely; Noel clears his throat, tries again. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice is a bit stronger this time, brighter--he sounds like himself. 

He forces his lips into a smile. Something inscrutable passes across the man’s features in response, an expression that Noel cannot name, before he smiles back. His grin is full of teeth. His pointy teeth and pointy face and small, dark eyes look vaguely lupine.

The man steps down the stairs to inspect the dresser, lodged at an impossible angle between the stairway and the door to Noel’s flat. Noel watches the way he lopes down the steps and stalks down the hall, cataloging his new neighbor’s appearance for the first time. He’s taller than Noel by several inches, thicker too, in a way that hints at a hidden strength and makes Noel feel small. His large frame, long fingers, and smile with too many teeth unsettles Noel, in more ways than one.

The upstairs neighbor looks at the dresser, then looks Noel up and down, assessing. Noel feels hyperaware of the difference in size between them, and also stupid for having gotten into this situation in the first place. 

“Think you could squeeze past the staircase?” the man asks, cocking an eyebrow.

Noel nods, stepping past him to squeeze himself into the narrow gap between the dresser and the wall.

“Grab it by the top and brace yourself,” he says in a gruff voice, and Noel does. With one well-placed shove, he manages to dislodge the stuck dresser. Noel can’t help but be impressed with how easy his neighbor makes the process seem. “There,” he says exhaling. “From here we can angle it in properly.” 

The two men spend a few minutes carrying the dresser to Noel’s bedroom, sidestepping boxes which have been left in the way. Noel directs him to place the dresser against the wall; they heave matching sighs of relief when they let go of the heavy piece of furniture. Noel wipes his palms on the thighs of skinny jeans, acutely aware of the way the man watches as he does.

Those small brown eyes flicker from Noel’s thighs to his chest to his face, until they’re looking straight into Noel’s wide blue ones. “I’m Julian,” he finally introduces himself, proffering a hand, which Noel takes. Julian’s huge hand swallows his own and a thrill rushes up Noel’s wrist and into his spine at the sudden skin-to-skin contact. 

“Noel,” Noel breathes. 

“Nice to meet you,” says Julian, grinning again, that same toothy smile that makes his whole face look sharp. 

“Likewise,” Noel offers. The room crackles with awkward silence. It’s not like Noel to be tongue-tied--he can talk to anyone about anything, but something about his neighbor makes his words crawl back down his throat.

Julian, apparently nonplussed by Noel’s silence, gestures at the disarray surrounding them. “Moving day?” 

“It’s obvious, innit?” Noel asks, casting a meaningful glance at the piles of boxes and clothing strewn on the floor. “Should have gotten actual movers,” he grumbles. The man with the van has been chain-smoking cigarettes all morning, lazily watching Noel laboriously load and unload his possessions.

Julian looks him over again; again, the same heat rises in Noel’s cheeks, that same small, vulnerable feeling from before. “You need help getting anything else into the flat?”

Noel doesn’t know whether to be offended that Julian doesn’t think he can handle it himself or thankful for the help. He chooses the latter. “There’s not much,” he admits. Moving from a shared flat, the only real furniture he has is a bed and a dresser and a beat-up desk. “Could use a hand with the mattress, since you’ve offered...”

Julian helps Noel with the mattress and the few remaining boxes in the van. It takes a few trips before they empty it of Noel’s possessions. The work goes quickly with two, and soon they’re standing in Noel’s kitchen, the last of the boxes piled on the counter.

“Would you--would you like a glass of water?” Noel manages to stammer out. “I mean, I’d usually offer a lager or something for helping me out, but as you can see, I’m still settling in....”

“Water would be fine.” Julian’s _ looking _ again. His expression reminds Noel of a predator sizing up his prey. 

“Welcome home!” a grating voice trills from the entry, interrupting their conversation. It’s the caretaker, Mr. Fossil, a squat man in an ill-fitting suit. Not waiting for Noel’s invitation, he invites himself in, flashing a gleaming metal key at Noel.

“Your mail key... I would have given it to you with the other keys... but Bainbridge just acquired a new property an hour north of here, and I’ve been busy...” he offers by way of explanation before tossing Noel the key. Noel’s only met Fossil twice, but the smarmy little man finds a way to work Dixon Bainbridge, the landlord, into nearly every sentence he speaks. 

Noel catches it before flashing a smile. “Cheers.”

“Nice place, isn’t it?” Mr. Fossil asks in his jarring, distinctly American accent.

“Really nice,” Noel answers. “The air’s so clean once you’re outside the city. And it’s so quiet.” 

“Well,” Fossil says, raising an eyebrow. “It’s quiet for _ now.” _

“How do you mean?” asked Noel as Fossil invites himself inside. Julian has gone stiff and quiet at his side. 

“Noises at night,” says Fossil, his voice tinged with excitement. “Some say it’s coyotes. But some--some say it’s wolves.” 

“As if!” Noel exclaims in disbelief. “There haven’t been wolves in all of England for _ centuries.” _ The floorboards creak as Fossil continues to stalk towards Noel and Julian. 

“Some call it a wolf. Some call it something else _ entirely, _ ” Fossil says, his voice taking on the timbre of a Scout leader around a campfire. “A man. Or part-man. Maybe what used to be a man before he was driven mad by the isolation, by his hunger for blood. They say it stalks the forests at night, searching for... something. A mate. A meal. Whatever _ it _is, you can hear it from right inside this house.” 

Julian sniffs beside him, the sound snapping Noel into reality. He exhales a nervous laugh. 

“I’m just sayin’,” continues Fossil, “strange things out in the woods, that’s what I hear.” He clears his throat and turns his attention to Julian, who’s grown more fidgety the longer Fossil talks. “Barratt, say ‘hi’ to Noel, your new neighbor.”

Julian rolls his eyes. “We’ve already met, Mr. Fossil.”

“Yeah,” Noel agrees, “Julian helped me unload the van.”

“The driver was rubbish,” Julian says. 

“Absolutely useless.” Noel and Julian exchange a mirthful glance, the casual riffing a contrast to their earlier stunted conversation. 

Fossil’s glance darts between the two of them, looking slightly miffed, as if sensing that he’s the butt of some private joke. He makes a show of checking his phone and announcing importantly, “Oh, a text from Mr. Bainbridge. He needs me to investigate a potential new property. Anyway, if you need me, you know where to reach me. Sleep tight, Noel, don’t let the bedbugs bite.” He turns and exits as suddenly as he appeared. 

Fossil finally gone, the two men collapse into giggles.

“Is Fossil always that weird?” Noel asks. 

“Not always,” Julian answers. “Sometimes, he’s weirder.”

His deadpan delivery makes them laugh again.

“Seriously, though,” Noel says, wiping his eyes, “what the hell was he talking about? Does Fossil _ seriously _ believe there are _ werewolves _ in the backyard or something?”

Julian freezes, no hint of laughter on his features. The sudden shift from playful to grim makes Noel’s head spin. “Who knows what Fossil believes,” he says with an air of forced nonchalance.

“You’ve lived here a while,” Noel says.

Julian nods, face perfectly blank, betraying nothing. “Three years.”

“Well,” Noel asks, “have _ you _ seen anything strange, then?”

“This neighborhood’s pretty quiet most of the time.” Julian pauses. His eyes narrow. “But be careful when the moon is full.”

Noel freezes, then shrugs it off with a smile. “You’ve gone wrong, Julian. There’s no such thing as werewolves.”

There is no hint of a joke in Julian’s expression. “I used to think so too,” he says enigmatically.

“I know I _ look _ like a girl,” Noel huffs, “but I don’t scare so easily.”

Julian says nothing, and Noel turns to the counter, rifling through a box scrawled with “Kitchen” in permanent marker. “Now where did I pack my glasses?”

By the time he manages to locate a pair of mugs, Julian is nowhere to be seen.

_ Weird_, Noel thinks, but, distracted by the process of moving, doesn’t think much of it after that.

It’s late when the boy in the first-floor flat gets home.

The boy only moved in two weeks ago, but Julian’s already met him a few times. His name is Noel, and he’s an art student, with shaggy black hair and the kind of androgynous good looks Julian has never quite been able to resist, and Noel is no exception.

When he shows up, Julian is smoking a cigarette on the porch, not because he knows that his neighbor arrives home at this hour. No, it’s because Julian cannot sleep. Smells are too acrid, sounds too sharp in his ears, and his muscles twitch under his skin, which feels too small.

The change is coming. 

The boy’s drunk--Julian can smell it on him, the hoppy, malty scent of beer--as he walks up the stairs to the porch, fumbling in his pockets for his keys. He greets Julian with drunken effusiveness, his words a cloud in the autumnal night air, stuttering a bit as a shiver wracks his body. 

“Cold night, isn’t it?” Julian asks. It’s the kind of small talk neighbors make.

“Yeah,” Noel agrees, eyeing Julian’s cigarette hungrily. Julian knows an in when he sees one; he offers the boy the crumpled packet. Noel daintily plucks a fag from the pack. His hands are stained with paint, the black nail varnish chipping. Julian remembers shaking his hand the first time they met, how small and delicate Noel’s hand had felt in his own, and it reminds him how much smaller Noel is, fine-boned and slim. The memory makes Julian’s blood race through his veins, makes the familiar hunger gnaw at his insides.

The change is coming. 

Noel places the fag between his lips, puckering them as he lifts his face, wordlessly asking for a light.

Julian is a gentleman, after all. He takes the invitation; his nostrils flare as he breathes the scent of his neighbor in. The boy smells like cheap booze and candy floss, but underneath, Julian catches a hint of blood, of flesh and musk and _ man _. A pang of something halfway between hunger and lust hits him in the chest, and he growls before he can stop himself. 

Noel startles, a bit, his big blue eyes looking up at Julian almost fearfully. _ Don’t be afraid, _ thinks Julian, _ it’ll only want you more. _But Julian flicks the lighter; Noel leans in, and Julian takes a deep breath. The scent of him makes Julian’s mouth water. The cigarette pursed between Noel’s lips sparks to life, and Julian pockets the lighter, his mouth full of saliva. He wipes his lips, and his hand comes away wet.

The moon is a waxing gibbous.

Tomorrow it will be full. And with the full moon comes the Change.

The wolf inside Julian _ wants _ . It would be so easy--he can smell the _ want _ wafting off of Noel like a fine perfume. So easy to reach out, to grab Noel, push him down into the floor, the mattress, anywhere, and _ take. _

But the change is not yet complete. Julian is still a man, a man with a conscience, and his conscience nags at him to warn the boy, to make him understand the danger he is in. 

Julian looks up at the moon. He can feel the way Noel’s eyes follow his gaze.

“Looks like a full moon,” Noel murmurs.

Julian turns to face him. The light of the moon makes Noel’s features sharper than ever, highlighting the bump of his nose, the pointiness of his chin. The boy is beautiful--not in a classic way, no, but something inimitable, absolutely unique, almost otherworldly.

Julian knows about otherworldly things. 

“Not quite yet,” he grunts.

The roughness in his voice must have startled the boy. Noel cocks his head at Julian, his eyes big and blue and questioning. “Oh?”

“Tomorrow,” Julian says, with the assurance of a man who has lived his life by the cycles of the moon. 

Noel takes a drag of his cigarette while Julian tries not to stare at the shape of his mouth.

“Do you remember what I said, when you first moved in? About the full moon?” Julian asks slowly. 

Noel grins, his teeth charmingly crooked as he exhales a stream of smoke. “Yeah, you and Fossil, tryna give me a good fright.” 

“Well,” said Julian, drawing himself up to his full height, towering above Noel, “just be careful tomorrow, yeah? Keep the doors locked. And your windows. Stay away from the woods. Do you have plans tomorrow night?”

“No, but seriously, Julian, I--”

“Good,” Julian says with an air of finality. “Promise me. No matter what you hear, what you _ think _you might hear, promise me you’ll stay inside. Keep everything locked and stay inside ‘til sunup.” 

Noel giggles around his cigarette at the absurdity of what Julian is saying. “You’re mad, you know,” he says with nervous laughter. 

Julian’s small eyes grow dark, his nostrils flaring dangerously as he plucks the cigarette from Noel’s lips and draws it to his own mouth with a quavering hand. Julian takes a drag and stubs it out, still staring daggers into Noel. The smile has died on the younger man’s lips. 

“Mad,” says Julian, voice low and dangerous. “You’ve no idea what madness is.” A sound comes from the woods, a branch snapping, the echo amplified in the silent midnight air. Noel’s eyes snap to the woods, fear coloring them again. _ Good, _thinks Julian. “Just stay inside tomorrow. Promise.” 

Noel looks up at him, tipsy and tiny, fear that wasn’t there moments before clawing its way icily up his neck. He shivers, though it’s nothing to do with the cold, and nods dumbly, acquiescing to his strange new neighbor’s request, anything to get him off his back and let him retreat inside where it’s warm and safe. “Promise,” says Noel, the word a misty whisper drifting on the cold air. Julian nods and turns away, releasing Noel from the conversation. 

“Sweet dreams,” Julian mutters darkly, wondering if his new neighbor has heard him. 

He has. Noel has wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing his upper arms with his palms as if trying to stay warm. Julian can smell the fear on him. His stomach growls. The hunger has never hit him this hard, this quick.

In an instant, Noel turns on his feet to push past Julian to the door. His hand shakes as he inserts the key into the lock, nudging it open, slipping inside, into safety, without a word. The door slams shut behind him, the sound of it echoing in the quiet night.

Julian looks up at the moon, fighting the urge to howl. Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow.

Noel enters the flat, the sound of the door closing behind him amplified by the silence of the night and the blood rushing in his ears. He tries to steady his breathing, tries to calm his quivering hands. 

He clicks the deadbolt shut, heart still hammering in his chest. 

He had been certain Julian and Fossil were fucking with him. Now, not so much.

Noel does not believe in monsters. Contrary to his gothic appearance, Noel is rather pragmatic; he doesn’t believe in vampires, or ghosts, or the Loch Ness monster. These things, he thinks, have a rational explanation: bad science, bad electrical wiring, bad whiskey.

He certainly doesn’t believe in werewolves.

But try as he might, he cannot explain the unease away. 

The door to the building slams. Noel hears the echo of Julian on the staircase, hears him close the door behind him. The hair on the back of Noel’s neck prickles. He double-checks the deadbolt, then, restless, wanders around the apartment, locking his windows, immediately feeling silly.

Noel’s only met his upstairs neighbor a few times in passing. Julian seems like a nice enough bloke: he doesn’t complain when Noel blasts his music through a late-night strike of inspiration at the easel. He seems to be something of a night owl himself, or at least he works nights; Noel asked once what Julian does for work, and Julian confided he was a musician. Jazz, mostly. Though, admittedly, at the mention of jazz, Noel tuned out.

Or maybe he’d simply been distracted by Julian’s hands, the way he waves them as he speaks, as though conducting an invisible orchestra. They are large hands, strong, but delicate, too. And if Noel had been thinking about the way they’d play his body like a guitar, well, no wonder he hadn’t been paying attention to what Julian was saying...

He thinks back to moments ago on the porch, the way Julian’s eyes and teeth flashed in the dark, his profile, long and lupine in the dim light, an exhalation of smoke curling around his face, caressing his lower lip… his low voice, rough, almost a growl.

It makes Noel’s adrenaline spike to think about it, cock half-hard thinking about the dangerous glint in Julian’s eyes, the way he looked Noel up and down, sizing him up like Noel was something to be hunted. 

Noel shivers to think of it, Julian holding him down and tearing him apart, and the idea is not so terrifying as he might have thought. Noel’s breath catches in the back of his throat as he realizes he’s _ aroused _ by it.

The best thing about not having roommates is the privacy, and Noel plans to take advantage of it completely. He cups himself between the legs, where his cock is already half-hard from adrenaline, right there on his newly-thrifted couch. A soft whimper escapes the back of his throat as he relieves some of the pressure building there. With no one around, he unzips his drainpipes, frees his prick from his pants, and resumes stroking, gently at first but with increasing intensity as he thinks about Julian. 

Noel runs a hand through his hair and lightly down his throat, imagining Julian’s deft fingers doing it instead, imagines how _ good _it would feel to have Julian suck a bruise onto his neck, right at the pulse point. Moaning again, he lets the pleasure escape aloud before biting his lip and stroking faster, giving his swollen cock a light squeeze as he does so. 

His mind fills with unbidden images: Julian handling him roughly, his hands grabbing and restraining him. Julian’s pointy teeth, cleverly put to sinful use. The barking laugh Noel’s only heard twice, Julian’s voice, low and velvety in his ears… 

Noel wipes his hair from his forehead; it’s stuck to his temples with sweat though the autumn chill is starting to creep in at night. He pauses to remove his shirt, returning naked and needy to the couch. Noel pumps his hips and thrusts his prick into his hand, not bothering to quiet the ragged breathing or the pitiful whimpers spilling from his lips, asking for _ more more more _. 

He wishes he had something to fuck himself with, but he hasn’t--his lube is all the way in the bedroom so he spits onto the fingers of the hand not currently wrapped around his dick, tracing fingertips around his puckered hole, not pressing in, just tracing, teasing, all the while panting and making little cries. Even if Noel hasn’t had much practice at it, he _ likes _ the idea of being a bottom, especially if Julian’s on top, if _ Julian _ were there, wresting the sounds from deep within...

He imagines Julian, those long fingers, or better yet, that wicked tongue, being put to good use, teasing that spot inside him. With a small sob, he wets his fingers with saliva again, then teases them down past his aching balls, this time trying to work a fingertip inside. It’s uncomfortable, too fast, too dry, but he imagines Julian growling in his ear: _ take it, take it, you know you can _ and he _ does_.

Noel whines. His fingers are a poor substitute for a hard cock. Within minutes he’s teasing that gland inside himself, his whole body crying out with the need to orgasm. He’s so far gone that he can barely think straight, but he manages one last effort to recall Julian, dangerous and sexy in the moonlight. With a cry, he comes spectacularly, voice keening and high pitched, followed by a long, deep exhale on which is only word: _ Julian. _

Noel’s mouth fills with the metallic taste of blood. Head muzzy with his release, he realizes he’s bitten too hard on his bottom lip--he’s bleeding, but too fucked out to care, too fucked out to do anything other than lie on the couch naked while his sweat cools and he sucks at his lip and his breathing returns to normal. Before too long, the chill in the night gets to be too much for his naked skin and Noel cleans himself up then crawls into bed, his mind a whirl of hands and teeth and his mouth tasting like blood. 

Lying safe and warm in his sheets, Noel’s almost asleep when he hears something--like the breath of some beast, huffing as it scents its prey, a low growl, then silence.

Noel strains his ears but the loudest sound is the leaves rustling on the trees. Whatever danger lurks outside, tonight, the forest keeps its secrets.

He gets out of bed, checking the latch to make sure the window is locked. Noel tells himself it’s because of the cold, but his neighbor’s words echo in his mind. _ Promise me. No matter what you hear, what you think you might hear, promise me you’ll stay inside. Keep everything locked and stay inside ‘til sunup. _

Noel’s not sure why, but he knows it is a promise he will keep.

It’s nearly three when Julian realizes he’s forgotten his mobile in his car. 

He makes his way downstairs stealthily, in the dark, on tiptoe and avoiding the creaky stairs. Sneaks out to his car like a thief under the cover of night. 

Julian doesn’t mean to look into Noel’s window. But his car is parked just a few yards away from the picture window in Noel’s living room. If anything, it’s Noel’s fault--the boy hasn’t yet purchased curtains. Though he has gotten a couch--a couch on which he’s wanking, naked, wanton, his skin a streak of moonlight against the dark fabric. His eyes are closed as he loses himself in pleasure, his black hair sticking slick with sweat to his forehead.

Julian carefully closes the driver’s-side door. He equally carefully undoes the button on his trousers, eases the zip down. His cock is full and hot and tenting the fabric of his pants, and he takes himself in hand. 

The boy brings his fingers to his mouth and spits, easing his hand between his legs, beneath the full balls to touch himself, whimpering--Julian can see the sound on his lips, in the shape of his open, gasping mouth. Noel thrusts into the hand around his cock, the fingers on the hand teasing his arse disappearing into the tantalizing shadow between his legs, and then the boy’s body stiffens as he throws back his head and howls his orgasm.

Julian’s cock twitches, and he follows soon after, coming onto his thighs and swallowing the urge to howl his pleasure to the night. Afterwards, he rests his head on the cool steering wheel to catch his breath before tucking his cock back into his clothes and going back inside. 

The house is dark, still, and silent. Julian’s ears twitch, his senses heightened. He catches the quiet rustle of leaves outside, the sound of sheets being pulled back, the low creak of Noel’s bed springs as he goes to bed and stands in the hallway, breathing deep. He can smell Noel’s sex, that sour, salty scent of semen, sweat, and the metallic tang of blood beneath.

This close to the full moon, it’s normal for Julian to feel more primal than usual--that’s part of the wolf. But _this. _He wonders if it’s because he can smell the want, the sex, the _blood_ on his neighbor, or if it’s because Noel is particularly attractive. Maybe it’s the combination of pheromones and nature and the beast inside him. And though he’s just come, Julian feels the desire spiking within him again. He inhales deeply outside Noel’s door, that sweet, pungent smell of sex and musk and semen, and desire courses through his veins so strongly he has to stop himself from scratching at Noel’s door, begging to be let in.

Julian shakes his head as if to clear it and climbs the stairs on silent feet, returning to his flat, unable to stop the shaking or his visceral reaction to his new neighbor, worried about tomorrow, worried he will not be able to stop the beast inside from giving in to either its lust, its lust for blood, or both. 

All he can do is hope that Noel has taken his warning to heart, that he’ll lock his windows and doors and stay inside as the beast roams wild, the full moon shining overhead.

It’s six twenty-five. Dusk settles onto the street, and Noel’s bike almost skids on a pile of wet leaves. He puts a foot down to steady himself.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog is barking. The sound makes Noel freeze, muscles tense, the hair on his arms going stiff, until he hears someone call for it; he exhales, relaxing. _ Funny. _He hasn’t noticed he’s been holding his breath. The wind gusts, and Noel shivers, staring absently at the purpling sky as he winds the woolen fabric of his scarf more tightly around his neck against the chill. 

The moon has risen. It hangs full and white and round above the horizon. 

Noel’s arms prickle.

He doesn’t have much time if he wants to be home before sunset.

His fingers, suddenly numb, drop the scarf. It unravels, falling on the pavement, into the shadow of the creeping night. Noel watches the horizon fixedly, struck dumb.

A car lays down the horn behind him, awakening Noel, who pushes off the pavement, standing on his pedals, crushing them into a full sprint until his heart pounds and he gasps for breath in a desperate attempt to outrun the dusk.

He makes it, but barely, sliding his key into the lock the moment the streetlights flicker on, skin damp from sweat and chest heaving, and tells himself he’s safe, though he doesn’t mention what he’s safe _ from_.

Noel doesn’t _ know. _ But he knows he doesn’t want to take the chance.

He paces the room, double-checking the locks on the windows and doors, each one latched shut, then chides himself for his paranoia, drinks a glass of water and a shot of vodka while clutching the kitchen counter with his free hand, his knuckles white with the force of his grip, as he waits for his heart to slow.

It takes ages. And when it is done, the adrenaline saps from Noel’s body all at once, and he drags himself to bed without bothering to wash his face, pulls the sheets over his head, and sleeps.

Julian sits in his armchair, waiting for night to fall.

The moon has risen.

It won’t be long now.

He taps his fingers on the armrest, gently stroking his fingernails over the plush fabric. It makes a sound like a hiss. Louder than it should be--to Julian it sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard, that shrill.

The change is coming.

Julian won’t have long now. He’s waited too long, maybe, waited to make sure Noel was home, then waited a bit longer, to make sure Noel was _ safe. _

Julian’s bones begin to ache. His skeleton feels heavier. 

The change has begun.

He can’t wait much longer.

Julian’s skeleton feels like it's on fire. His skin itches; his hair stands on end. He forces himself to his feet, to stumble down the stairs, his body strange and off-balance, almost falling more than once--no, not _ falls _, not precisely; rather, his center of gravity is off, like he’s not meant to be walking on two legs.

Finally, he’s outside. 

Julian drops down to all fours, crouching on his haunches. The moonlight soothes the itch on his skin, the ache in his bones, but it makes the hunger _ worse. _

It’s dark here, quiet--nothing dares stir, only the forest. 

Nothing but the forest and _ Noel_.

The light of the full moon spills in through the windows, and Noel dreams.

He is running through the forest. _ Something _ follows. He cannot see it, but he can _ hear _ it, can _ feel _ it lurking, the way it _ watches. _ His heart pounding, chest heaving, Noel runs from whatever is chasing him.If only he could move _ faster _he could outrun whatever is behind him...

The sound of footfalls grows close, and then closer. Sweat trickles down the side of Noel’s neck as he wills his sluggish feet to _ go faster. _

Something hot and wet like breath kisses the back of his hand as he runs.

It’s close. Closer.

Daring the risk, Noel peeks behind him. All he sees are long fingers and flashing teeth in a lupine face--it’s hard to focus, and Noel can’t tell if the creature looking back at him is more man or beast; the uncertainty makes his breath come shorter until it stops altogether. His foot catches on something--he falls to the forest floor which is covered in a layer of leaves that crunch beneath his scraped hands. 

There is darkness.

And then, a blinding flash of pain.

Something like claws rakes down Noel’s legs, the blood welling hot and wet on his thighs, a howl echoing--

Noel awakes with a cry, skin clammy and sweaty. He reminds himself it’s only a dream, a nightmare, and takes a drink from the glass of water on the bedside table with shaking hands and sighs, repeating a mantra _I’m safe,_ _I’m safe, I’m safe_. By the time he catches his breath, Noel almost believes it.

Then a howl pierces the night.

Noel’s skin tightens. A chill runs from his scalp to his toenails as he realizes the howl isn’t a dream or a nightmare. 

It’s real. And it’s _ outside. _

Noel feels tendrils of panic wind their way into his mind, his thoughts beginning to race.

It seems unfathomable now that Noel could ever have _ liked _ the remoteness of the old house, sitting at the top of the hill, at the edge of the forest. His friends had teased him for moving so far out of town, but he’d just joked it was his own ivory tower, that he was the ugly princess locked away from the world. 

But tonight, the isolation unsettles instead of charms. Noel longs for the sounds of traffic and sirens and pedestrians--anything but this unshakable silence, interrupted by terrible sounds from the woods.

Another howl, unmistakable this time. 

Perhaps it’s nothing more than a stray dog. A coyote, maybe. Do they have coyotes this close to the city limits? Do coyotes _ howl_?

The howl sounds again. It rakes up the skin of Noel’s neck like nails. He’s always heard coyotes sound like shrieking women, and _ this _ is no shriek. It’s a deep, resonant howl. Feral. Not a dog. No, it’s the sound of something wild. Something that has never been tamed.

Wolves, then. 

Or something_ else. _

An image, half-man-half-wolf, flashes through Noel’s mind. Claws punctuating long, human fingers. A smile with too many teeth. Keen, intelligent eyes in a lupine face. 

Unbidden, Julian’s warning echoes in his brain: _ No matter what you hear, what you think you might hear, promise me you’ll stay inside. _

_ You’ve no idea what madness is. _

_ Keep everything locked and stay inside ‘til sunup. _

_ Promise me. _

Noel had promised, not really taking Julian seriously, but he’d be damned if he was going to leave the house now. True, Noel doesn’t know his upstairs neighbor very well, but he likes him enough that he doesn’t want him mauled to death by a… _ whatever _ is out there. 

Noel forces himself to get out of bed. The usually-soft sound of his feet hitting the wood floors is impossibly loud in the silence. 

He creeps carefully to the window. The moon hangs round and full in the sky, which is clear, not a cloud in sight. Its pale, silvery light filters into the room. Noel’s never been afraid of the moonlight, thinks it’s romantic, even, but tonight it makes him sick to his stomach, the way the moon creeps in and touches _ everything, _infects it.

Noel stares out the window. Looking at the woods makes him nauseated, seeing them dark and looming leaning menacingly over the house, as though personally crowding him and threatening his safety and peace of mind, and he resolves to buy curtains first thing tomorrow. 

But first, Noel must survive _ tonight_.

He checks, again, that the latches are properly locked. They are, just as they were the last time he checked, and Noel exhales. His chest aches in relief--he’s been holding his breath without realizing again.

No sooner has Noel turned from the window than he hears a sound coming from it. 

A scratch, the unmistakable noise of nails _ or claws _dragging across the wood exterior of the house. 

Noel opens his mouth in a silent scream. His eyes fill with tears of their own accord, muscles tightening as though an invisible cord has drawn them all taut. A body-wracking shiver shudders through him. He doesn’t dare turn around. 

The scratching continues, followed by a distinctive _ sniff _along the windowpane, followed by a low, rumbling noise.

Noel refuses to call it a_ growl, _ but he _ knows _ that’s what it is.

Noel trembles all over, unable to decide whether or not he should move, if he should run, if he should dare look out and _ see. _

Silence.

Silence so loud his ears shriek with it. He can feel and hear his heart pounding in his ears as he breathes, gasping, shallow breaths, hoping and praying that_ it _will move along. 

Moments pass. The silence persists. Noel has no idea how long he’s been standing there, stock still in the moonlight, unable to shake the feeling of eyes boring into the back of his neck. Something is watching him, _ tracking _ him. 

Finally, Noel makes up his mind to turn around, to chance a peek, to see exactly what _ it _is. He pivots on the heel of his left foot, slowly, slowly.

The room shatters with noise. Noel’s teeth vibrate with the volume of it. 

_ Howling. _

Deep and low and loud and _ right _outside his window. 

The darkness moves. Through the window, Noel sees a long, dark tail, a high canine foot soaked with blood, turning the corner, making its way to the front door. 

The scream Noel has been swallowing vomits its way out of his mouth, uncontrollable. He slams his bedroom door shut, shakily turning the lock as his wide eyes case his room for something to brace the door. He sees nothing. He can’t _ do _anything.

All the while, _ it _ gets closer. 

Blind with fear, Noel screams for help from the only name that comes to mind.

He screams for Julian.

“JULIAN!”

The sound of his own name breaks the enchantment.

The man inside the wolf emerges, shivering, naked, on all fours. Julian drags himself upright, slowly, unfurling his spine as he stands, stumbling, stupid, then runs one of his long-fingered hands over his arms as if subconsciously checking that the change is complete, satisfied when he feels not fur but smooth skin that has been kissed white by the light of the moon, still full and fat and hanging overhead. 

He is back inside his own body, taking an unsteady step on his awkward human legs and equally-unwieldy human feet. A jolt of pain shoots up his left leg, and Julian whimpers, shifting his weight onto his right foot and smearing the cool, damp grass with blood.

He shakes his head. The wolf lingers. His mind is a confusing mess of sounds and smells and _ hunger. _

He licks his lips, tastes the coppery tang of blood. Has he fed...? He can’t remember. 

If he has, it’s not _ enough. _

His stomach clenches. The hunger so strong it is a physical pain, burning in the pit of his belly. Julian moans. It comes out like a growl.

Something flickers in the window, white and round. At first Julian mistakes it for a reflection of the full moon, but the image sharpens into Noel’s face, his expression a grimace of fear and disbelief and something softer, almost tender. 

Noel cracks open the window. A waft of scent tumbles out, so strong that Julian opens his mouth to taste it. Adrenaline and musk and maleness, it makes Julian’s mouth water.

“Julian?”

The howling and snuffling stops and is replaced with a soft whimper and the thump of a body hitting the wooden porch outside. Noel breathes, every muscle in his body is wound tight as a bowstring, listening carefully for sounds of the beast outside. 

None come. 

He’s about to brush it off as paranoia, a bad nightmare, when he hears the strangled sound of something in pain. Of _ someone _ in pain, a _ human _ sound, in stark contrast to the animal sounds from earlier. 

Noel peeks out the window and sees something pale, huddled and bleeding by the front door. 

“Julian?” he asks, for he knows his neighbor’s shape without ever having seen him naked--recognizes the long limbs, shaggy hair, looking lupine in the moonlight. 

He races to the front door, swings it open, heedless of the monster that had been there moments ago, mind is full of only one thing: _ Julian, Julian, please be okay, Julian. _

Julian is crumpled, mouth dribbling blood at the corners, eyes scrunched shut in pain. Noel exclaims wordlessly then grabs the throw off his sofa and drapes it over his upstairs neighbor. 

“Julian, for fuck’s sake, I got you. Now come on.” He tries to help the larger man inside while maintaining both their dignities, but Noel’s limbs quiver with nerves, the adrenaline finally releasing its grasp over his body. He wants to cry. Whatever was out there… it’s _ gotten _ Julian. Poor, quiet, serious Julian with his big hands and mysterious smile...

Noel half carries the larger man to the sofa, goes to the kitchen and gets water and vodka and a hot, damp flannel. Julian is limping, dragging his left foot behind him, leaking blood on the wooden floor as Noel guides him to the couch.

Julian is skittish and wild, shrinking from Noel’s touch. Noel does his best, tending to his neighbor with shaking hands and wiping away as much blood as he can from Julian’s cracked, chapped lips and wounded foot. The flannel in his hand turns red with blood, and Noel discovers a massive thorn, sunken into the heel of Julian’s left foot, and Noel curses under his breath, desperately trying to remember if he’s managed to unpack his first-aid kit, covering Julian with blankets to fight off the chill as Noel heads into the bathroom to find his tweezers.

When he returns, Julian is huddled on the couch, crouched beneath the throw like a wounded animal, fearful and tense. As Noel approaches, he murmurs comforts and platitudes, “It’ll be all right, Julian, it’s okay, it’s gone, Julian,” the name slurring on his tongue from overuse. 

Julian closes his eyes, soft whimpers of discomfort escaping him every few breaths. Noel is warm and close and Julian can smell the fear, the blood on him.

The hunger gnaws at him, claws at him from the inside, deeper than a simple appetite. It radiates from his belly down between his legs, to his cock, which has begun to swell. 

The wolf _ wants. _Julian is not sure how much longer he can deny it.

Instead, he focuses on the nape of Noel’s neck, the vulnerable knob of his spine exposed as Noel leans to fuss over Julian’s wounds. They’re nothing--superficial scrapes from branches, rocks; they’ll heal in a day, but Noel doesn’t know that.

“You all right, Julian? You look a little flushed,” Noel observes. Julian pulls the blanket Noel threw over his nakedness tight and shakes his head. His tongue feels slack and strange inside his mouth. He can’t speak--he doesn’t trust himself to open his mouth without sinking his teeth into Noel’s neck, right at the knob of vertebrae that so fascinates him.

He turns his head towards Noel’s face, the boy’s pointy features highlighted by moonlight in the dark room. Noel’s hands shake, his eyes dart around the room looking for monsters in every darkened corner, he twitches at every sound from outside. Julian is torn by the desire to feast on his fear, and to protect him, small, delicate, delicious as he is.

Noel swallows around the nervous lump in his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. Julian, nestled warm against his body, so close and smelling so… feral, like the forest and wet leaves and damp fur that makes Noel’s head spin. He chalks it up to the adrenaline lingering in his system and tends to Julian’s bloodied foot, removing the thorn from Julian’s heel with tweezers as he wills his hands to stop shaking.

Julian shifts, inhaling deeply and Noel’s eyes flutter closed. He feels the nudge of Julian’s nose against the skin of his neck, can feel Julian’s nostrils flare as he huffs a mouthful of Noel’s skin.

And then Julian _ bites_.

A flash of blinding agony arcs across Noel’s vision, and he shouts, a bleat of pain and panic. 

But Julian doesn’t let go. Instead, he drapes himself over Noel’s back, tugging his skin between his teeth as he presses Noel into the couch. Noel’s never felt anything like it before, but he recognizes the heat of a cock, _ Julian’s _ cock, settling between the cheeks of his arse. 

Noel gasps aloud, the heat of the cock against his arse sending a wave of sensation through him. Images he’d imagined while pleasuring himself to thoughts of Julian swim through his mind. Maybe it’s the traces of terror left over from earlier but everything is so much _ more. _ Julian is far heavier, warmer, rougher than anyone Noel’s ever been with, and he’s surprised by how much he likes it. He’s not _ supposed _ to like it, and Noel thinks he might be getting off on that even more than the roughness itself.

Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. All he knows is that he wants _ more. _

Julian can smell the moment that Noel’s fear fades into arousal. Even before Noel’s body yields beneath his, he can smell it--the coppery, mineral scent of adrenaline giving way to something muskier, more sensual.

He releases his mouthful of Noel’s neck from between his teeth. Already, he can see Noel’s white skin purpling with the promise of a bruise. 

With a growl, Julian grinds down against Noel’s smaller frame. He’s slim, fine-boned, wrists thin enough that Julian can circle both of them in one huge hand. The sight of his fingers encircling the boy’s delicate wrists makes Julian’s cock throb and leak as he rubs himself against the rough denim of Noel’s drainpipes.

He’s naked, and Noel fully clothed. With his free hand, Julian yanks Noel’s drainpipes over his hips. There is a moment of resistance; then the fabric gives with an audible rip.

Perhaps Noel should be more upset about the torn jeans--they’re designer and cost him more than he’d like to admit--but a bigger part of him thrills at the fact that Julian tore them off like they were made of tissue paper. Arousal or fear, it doesn’t matter which he’s feeling; all he knows is he wants _ more _of it.

As it is, Noel tests Julian’s grip on his wrists. Julian tightens his fingers, enough to hurt, his nails biting into Noel’s flesh as long and sharp as claws. Noel whimpers.

Julian recognizes the sound immediately--the whimper of a prey animal, giving in to its fate. It is only natural, for the weaker animal to give up the fight and submit when it realizes it is overpowered, when it realizes the struggle will only prolong its anguish, and gives in. 

Heart pounding, breath coming in gasps, Julian forces Noel to kneel in front of the couch, his chest pressed into the cushions, arse angled over the armrest, legs draped to the floor. Noel’s limbs move pliantly until Julian has him arranged exactly as he wants, and Julian crouches between Noel’s legs to nip a trail of sharp bites over the white thighs, unexpectedly thick with muscle for someone so slight, and Julian thrills at the sight of all that strength, so easily given over to him, _ his _ will, _ his _ desire.

Julian’s mouth fills with saliva. The desire to sink his teeth in and _ taste _ overwhelms him, and he nuzzles his nose into Noel’s groin, taking deep breaths. He can smell Noel’s insides, dankly musky, tantalizing; his tongue snakes out to tease the crease of Noel’s arse--it tastes like it smells, maybe even sweeter.

The thick slide of Julian’s hot tongue trails saliva between Noel’s cheeks as Noel trembles under him, thighs shaking not from the effort of holding himself in position but with the onslaught of pleasure, intensified by the knowledge of the ease with which Julian can overpower him, can manipulate his body, exploiting his erogenous zones until he’s weak with it. His cock throbs between his legs, neglected, but it seems unimportant compared to Julian’s wet tongue, which is now tracing circles over his anus, causing Noel to clench with surprise.

Julian chuckles, a low, rumbling thing hinting at menace, just before he bites down, his teeth scraping the sensitive furl of Noel’s hole. He gasps in surprise, his body contracting then relaxing, and Julian’s tongue stiffens and begins to insinuate itself inside.

Noel’s never felt anything like this--he’s received oral before, but just blowjobs, nothing like _ this. _

Julian’s stubble bristles against his sensitive skin. Noel knows he will have friction burns in the morning, and the forbiddenness, the _ filth _of it, makes him shudder; the only response he gets is Julian’s wicked tongue, burrowing deeper.

When the boy moans, Julian can’t help the smirk that twists his lips into a snarl, even as he’s busy fucking his tongue in and out of Noel’s hole. The taste is rich, syrupy sweet, but even as he gorges himself on it, the hunger remains, unsatiated. 

With a long, languid lick, Julian withdraws his tongue to bite at Noel’s cheeks and rim. They’re not gentle, playful nips either--they’re sharp and cruel, they _ hurt_. There’s a hunger in the way Julian eats him out, as if he’s _ ravenous _ for the taste of him, as if a mouthful of Noel’s flesh can soothe some awful gnawing ache inside.

Noel also feels Julian’s erection, whose hard cock bumps at Noel’s ankles and calves as he crouches at Noel’s feet and slurps against his hole. Noel’s hard, so hard, even though neither he nor Julian have touched his cock, and he grinds himself against the couch cushions, his hips moving in small, stacotto motions. It’s not enough to get him off, to make him _ come _, and a whine rises from his throat and spills out of his mouth, full of need.

Julian sucks at Noel’s rim, long and deep, feeling Noel’s muscles stretch around his tongue as he slides it out of the boy’s body with a slurp that is somehow more obscene than having his tongue in Noel’s arse at all. Julian’s cock is full and hot and dripping, and he reaches between his legs to stroke it, almost soothingly spreading the wetness at the tip down the shaft.

He could come like this, wanking himself off to the sight of Noel’s ass, which is red and chafed from his beard, dotted with bruises in the shape of his teeth. But, as good as that would be, Julian knows it won’t be _ enough_.

The wolf will still be hungry.

The moon, still full, hangs in the sky, mockingly shining through the picture window. Julian knows the awful itch, the bone-grinding ache, of the beast beneath his skin will linger until sunrise.

With a growl, Julian lets go of his cock to pry Noel’s cheeks apart. He spits, once, twice, three times, right onto Noel’s hole, which visibly clenches as Julian’s spit coats the sensitive flesh. Then he grabs Noel’s hips to anchor himself, angling his body over Noel’s back, letting the boy feel how much heavier Julian is, how much more powerful, as his weight presses Noel to the sofa cushions.

There is a wiry strength in his arms, muscles visible beneath the skin as he braces himself. Noel struggles, instinctively testing Julian’s hold on him. Julian’s muscles tense, veins bulging beneath his skin and the sight of all that strength bearing down on Noel makes Noel gasp.

Noel’s resistance makes Julian bare his teeth and bite the base of the boy’s neck, teeth tugging on the flesh as his fingernails dig into Noel’s forearms. 

The pain is sharp enough that Noel whimpers, going still. When Julian relaxes his grip, there is a line of pink crescent moons dotting Noel’s skin. “You want this,” Julian says; they’re the first words he’s said all night, and they’re rough and grizzled and growling... “You want me--” and Noel opens his mouth to say _ no _ but chokes on the lie of it, because he _ does _want this, every bit, and moans instead.

That’s all it takes--Julian bites the juncture of Noel’s neck and shoulders, tears until his sharp canines break the skin and Noel cries out.

The cry awakens something in him, and Julian shoves his cock into the slick space between Noel’s legs, frotting wildly, the head of his cock catching on the thin skin of Noel’s anus; there’s a pressure, and for a terrifying second, Noel thinks Julian will take him dry. But he angles his hips, and his cock slides into the valley between Noel’s arsecheeks, down to his balls, back up again, the friction against his most sensitive places driving Noel mad.

Blood trickles, tickling warm and wet as it seeps from the bite on Noel’s shoulder down his ivory skin. His head spins from sensation, the lines between pain and pleasure, fear and arousal blurring so he can’t tell which is which anymore. The blood makes him woozy. Dizzy with how filthy, how_ taboo_, all of this is, Noel pants aloud, his voice high in the back of his throat, unrecognizable. 

He wriggles, forcing a hand underneath himself to grab at his cock. He’s so close--there’s no time for teasing, he’s got to _ come _ , and _ soon-- _

Julian notices what Noel is doing--touching himself--and runs his tongue over his teeth, the sharp edges of his canines catching on his tongue. The salty, metallic taste of blood spills into his mouth, and he cannot resist the urge to lick at Noel’s wounds and mingle their blood on his tongue.

So he does, laving at the broken skin, sucking up the red droplets as soon as they appear. Noel tastes better than any prey, his blood sweet, fresh, _ innocent_.

The sensation of Julian’s soft tongue against the torn, stinging skin sends Noel over the edge. He comes into his hand and all over the couch cushions, his semen a warm, sticky puddle beneath his belly, so hard that his eyes well with tears.

Julian _ smells _him come, the sharp, salty scent triggering his own release. He bears down, throwing his head back, howling his pleasure into the night, the sound echoing, echoing--

The dark room fills with the sound of their breath, slowing in the aftermath, Noel’s body soft and slack beneath Julian’s. He does not stir, even after Julian prises their bodies apart, grimacing at the mess between them. His semen drips down Noel’s thighs, obscene in the moonlight, a white smear against the purpling imprint of Julian’s teeth.

He takes a moment to admire the sight of Noel marked with his cum, his bite, his scent, _ his_. The flat is still and quiet, until the boy shivers, and Julian notices for the first time the chill in the flat--the house is old and drafty and the nights have begun to frost. 

That jealous feeling spikes in Julian’s chest, and it’s accompanied by something else this time, something almost _ tender_, at the sight of his mate cold and weak and bleeding. As if on instinct, Julian rises to look for a blanket and a flannel, knowing it is his responsibility to make the boy comfortable. 

He finds the blanket Noel had wrapped around his shoulders when he’d brought Julian in from the wild, hurriedly discarded in a pile on the floor. He tucks the blanket around Noel’s slight, bony shoulders, and Noel gratefully burrows into the warmth.

The flannel takes a bit of searching--the flannels Noel used on him earlier the are bloodied and crumpled on the floor; a peek in the bathroom reveals two grungy towels, both stained with hair dye. Momentarily disgusted, Julian reminds himself that Noel has just moved in, that he’s still a student, and grabs a handful of toilet tissue to wipe Noel clean.

Noel moans when Julian pushes the blanket aside, sounding pitiful. “Cold,” he whines.

“Shh, I know,” Julian answers. His voice is deeper, more gravelled that usual. “It’s only for a minute.”

Noel blinks, his blue eyes bleary, acquiescing. 

As he wipes his cum from between Noel’s thighs, Julian catalogues the various marks--pale skin purpling with bruises and bite marks, the blood trickling from Noel’s neck to his shoulder. Julian’s never dared to be so close to another human during his transformation, and certainly never _ fucked _ anyone in that transient half-man, half-wolf mindset. He recoils, disgusted at what he’s done, stomach clenching with shame and self-loathing as he dresses Noel’s shoulder wound, disinfecting it thoroughly and doing his best to bandage it with the Looney Tunes plasters he finds in the medicine cabinet. 

Bile rises in his throat and his brow furrows as he reflects on his own carelessness, hoping that the bite, merely a human one, under the full moon will not harm Noel.

The rules are simple: make arrangements every month, for the full moon causes the change; stay away from humans because you’ll want to devour them; a bite or scratch from the wolf passes on the disease. He’d broken _ two _ of the three rules tonight. All for what? To possess Noel. To have him, to make him _ his. _

He pushes the tempest of thoughts aside, for now, to focus on taking care of the boy who is lying limp on the couch, covered in Julian’s cum, Julian’s _ scent. _ The least Julian can do is tidy him up and get him into bed. 

Throughout the whole thing, Noel rests, not quite asleep but not exactly conscious either. The events of the night--the abject terror, the aftermath of adrenaline flooding and leaving his system, the violent, _ mindblowing _ sex--it’s too much. His head lolls with exhaustion; he barely notices Julian’s clever hands patching him up. 

“Thanks, Ju,” he half-whispers, voice gravelly and worn. 

“Don’t thank me,” Julian replies, infusing as much significance to the words as he can. 

“You saved me,” continues Noel weakly, eyes opening but barely focusing on Julian’s face, white in the moonlight. “Saved me from whatever was out there.” He casts a meaningful glance at the window then musters up what strength he has to grasp Julian’s hand, brushing his dry and cracking lips against it in a kiss.

The gesture, its pure affection, in such contrast to the violence of their encounter, catches Julian off-guard. He balks, the guilt at having exposed Noel to a danger too great to allow him to accept such tenderness from the boy he’s so recently ravaged.

Unaware of the danger he’s in, Noel releases his hand and his eyes slip shut as he nuzzles affectionately into Julian’s side. The gesture, though it feeds Julian’s possessive nature, makes his stomach sink. He doesn’t deserve such tenderness from the blissful, naive Noel, who releases Julian’s hand as his eyes slip shut and his head rests against Julian’s chest. 

Julian grimaces, unable to stand the intimacy of Noel’s embrace after what they’ve just done--so violent, needy, primal, _ dangerous_. He stands, and in one smooth motion lifts Noel into his arms and moves him into the bedroom. He’s startlingly light, even wrapped in the blanket. Julian’s disturbed to look down and realize how easily the boy fits in his arms, how natural it is for Noel to nuzzle his face into Julian’s chest, and cold fingers wrap around his heart, squeezing and hurting, reminding him _ a beast like you can never have this. _

He deposits the swaddled Noel on his bed which is still rumpled from the chaotic night before. Noel sighs and burrows into his pillow as Julian turns to leave, but he grasps tight to Julian’s hand. He opens his heavy, blue eyes and pleadingly says, “Stay.” 

It’s not a question. 

Julian’s heart clenches again. He knows he should walk away, lock himself upstairs, and not see Noel again, at least until the pull of the full moon recedes, but the wolf keens at the thought: it wants to stay with its mate. Sighing, Julian drops into bed beside Noel, who instantly wraps himself around the larger man. Julian presses a soft kiss to his forehead and holds the boy close, breathing in the sweet, musky scent of him, and he and the wolf drop off into a dreamless sleep.

The sun is high and pale in the gray sky the next morning, the woods and street hidden behind a shroud of mist. Noel awakens to warmth and scent of semen and opens his eyes. Even with his eyes blurry with sleep, Noel recognizes the shape of Julian lying on the other side of the bed, tangled in the sheets. 

All at once, as though remembering a dream, images of the night before flood his mind as Noel _remembers. _ Curiously, the more he remembers, the more questions he has. He needs coffee before he can even attempt to answer them. 

Beside him, Julian snuffles and stretches but does not wake. The purple smudges beneath his eyes betray his exhaustion even as he sleeps. Scratches crisscross his shoulders, one shallow cut graces his face in a red raw line stark against the shadow of his beard. Noel sits up and brushes Julian’s scraggly hair off his brow, endeared to discover his forehead is lineless and peaceful in sleep. He smiles to himself as he extricates himself from the bed carefully, trying not to wake his neighbor (friend? lover? Noel doesn’t know); Julian obviously needs the rest after narrowly escaping whatever horrid thing had been out there last night. Noel shudders to remember it, even in daylight, and puts it from his mind in pursuit of caffeine.

As soon as he stands, the ache between his legs reminds him, in very real terms, that none of last night was a dream or a nightmare. When he catches sight of himself in the mirror, he gasps. Noel’s pale skin is covered in marks, visible, red and purple, shaped like Julian’s smile, full of teeth. His neck is bruised where Julian has bitten and sucked, his shoulder bite dried with blood. He looks used, abused, _ marked. _ In spite of the humiliation that flushes his cheeks, Noel smiles. He _ likes _ this, likes being _ taken, _ feeling _ owned, _ and his morning hardon twinges at the memory of how thoroughly Julian had wrecked him last night. 

He stumbles to the bathroom, pisses, washes between his legs as best he can, finger combs his hair, and goes to the kitchen to make coffee. The smell fills the small flat as it percolates. Noel continues to tries to piece together the events of the night before, but finds he is too under-caffeinated to make sense of anything at all. 

When the machine beeps, he pours the coffee into his favorite chipped blue mug, adds an ungodly amount of sugar, and begins the process of caffeinating himself awake, creeping out to the porch to sit and drink his coffee. The rising sun has begun to burn off the early-morning mist, and Noel basks in it, letting the frosty morning air and sunlight wake him up. 

Fragmented memories from last night steal their way into his mind: the howling, the wan, white moonlight, the absolutely feral fucking, Julian naked and bleeding on the doorstep....

His eyes are drawn to the woods. They seem less terrifying now, in daylight, the shadows melting in the sun, birds calling to each other in the morning. 

Noel knows the _ thing_, whatever _ it _ is, is still out there, still _ dangerous _. He thinks of Julian, stunned, shivering, naked in the moonlight, wounded from his encounter with the beast...

Something niggles at Noel. Something’s not quite right. What had Julian been doing outside--naked, no less--after he’d warned Noel to stay inside, to lock his windows and doors, to stay _ safe? _

Thinking of Julian naked derails Noel’s train of thought a bit. He blushes, though there is no one to notice he’s having inappropriate thoughts, then absently reminds himself to check on Julian later.

Noel takes another sip of coffee and stares out across the lawn. The street is quiet, as always--the only sound the rasping of leaves on the breeze. He casts his gaze across the grass, not sure what he’s looking for until he sees it--there, at the foot of the stairs, is a trail of rust-colored footprints, leading from the grass up the stairs and onto the porch. From what Noel can see, it’s just the left, smeared, indistinct, and dragging towards the door. 

Uneasy, Noel stands. For reasons he is unable to explain, he follows the gruesome trail around the corner. The footprints end at his bedroom window, and Noel shudders, remembering the _ thing _ that had scratched and growled on the other side of his window. The shiver has nothing to do with the cold morning air. 

He’s about to head back to the porch to finish his coffee when he notices something strange--the trail of bloody human footprint turns, inexplicably, to a trail of large paw prints just outside his window that disappear into the brush, and beyond that, the forest.

Noel gasps, hit by a flash of memory: the creature last night, outside his window, its proud paw bloody in the moonlight. 

His blood turns to ice in his veins. The mug slips from his numb fingers, shattering and splattering, hissing hot coffee all over the grass.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, frozen in place, unable to move. Finally, he lifts his head, trying to peer through the glass into his bedroom, to make sure Julian is in his bed, where he’s supposed to be, where Noel left him. But the sun is bright and the window dark, and Noel sees nothing through the glare.

Something rustles in the brush, and Noel jerks his head around, trying to catch a glimpse of _ it _ before it retreats into the woods. 

There’s nothing there.

Nothing moves, not even the wind. 

Noel isn’t sure what he fears more--that the _ thing _ is still outside, watching, waiting for him to let his guard down before it attacks. Or, worse--that it’s not outside at all, that he’s unwittingly let it _ in_. 

A bird chirps, shocking Noel out of his fugue. He casts an eye over the woods--quiet, dark, and still despite the brightness of the sun. 

He stares, but nothing moves. There’s nothing there. 

Whatever danger lurks beyond the trees, the forest keeps its secrets. 

**Author's Note:**

> Our muses get off on all your comments and kudos, and when the muse gets off, you get fic!


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